


Topple

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small collection of unrelated Oliver/Percy drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmoretteHD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Whenever Percy asks Oliver to study—which isn’t very often—Oliver invariably says ‘yes.’

Every once in awhile, it’s simply raining too hard to fly—according to Professor McGonagall, anyway—or there’s a test coming up that Oliver just can’t afford to fail. In these instances, Percy is simultaneously the best and worst study partner.

On the one hand, he’s perfectly able and happy to answer any of Oliver’s questions. He shares detailed, well-organized notes and corrects work, and he cuts through any excuses Oliver might conjure to finish early.

On the other hand, he looks painfully delicious bent over his History of Magic textbook, with his pretty lashes lowered and his pink lips slightly parted. His glasses fall a bit down his nose, giving Oliver the intense urge to either push them back up or rip them off. Percy looks delectable in them—they magnify and accentuate his gorgeous blue eyes, framing his face beautifully. The smattering of freckles just underneath the thick lenses makes Oliver want to lick them. It’s a cliché, but Oliver’s always wanted to see just how much of Percy’s long, lithe body is covered in freckles. He knows Percy’s a natural redhead—knows he’ll have a similar mess of fiery red hair lower. Oliver knows Percy’s legs are long and shapely, like his arms, and Oliver knows that Percy has a scrumptious, pert, tight ass, from the way he bends over in his too-tight hand-me-down clothes. Oliver knows Percy’s good with his hands from the way he expertly twirls a quill in his fingers, and Oliver knows Percy’s great with his mouth, from the way he sucks languidly on the sugar quills Oliver always brings him from Hogsmeade when he’s too busy to come. The only thing Oliver doesn’t know is what Percy actually _feels_ and _tastes_ like, underneath all that ill-fitting fabric.

When Percy looks up, Oliver pretends he’s been studying the whole time. He looks back down at his work. Percy asks, “Are you stuck on something?”

Oliver says, “Yes,” without thinking.


	2. ~

Oliver rounds the corner to see Percy shoved up against the wall, Marcus Flint sneering something into his ear. Percy’s face is twisted in pain, eyes scrunched shut, teeth clenched tight, and cheeks flushed. He looks absolutely delicious, which gives Oliver a sharp twinge of guilt. He focuses instead on Flint, a bully with no respect for anyone.

Oliver storms over so fast his robes fly behind him, and he wrenches a surprised Flint off the wall with a snarled, “Leave him alone.”

Flint straights his robes with a disgruntled scowl. Percy lets out a faint hitch of breath as he slips down the wall, and when he turns to Oliver, his blue eyes go very wide.

“What’d I tell you?” Flint laughs at Percy, with a very evident cruel note to his voice. Percy flinches instantly, cheeks reddening bright enough to clash with his hair.

Then, to Oliver’s utter shock, Percy looks up at him and says, somewhere between desperately and furiously, “I don’t need a stupid jock to come rescue me!” Then he abruptly scoops up his bag and barrels down the hall, right past Oliver with his head down. Oliver turns to watch him go, thoroughly confused.

“’Knew you two were a bunch of queers!” Flint laughs hard. “’Asked him what he was doing skulking around the pitch yesterday—looking for his boyfriend? Looks like I was right!”

Flint turns and heads down the other end of the hall, probably to go tell all his friends.


	3. ~

Percy’s just pushed the desk chair in when Oliver struts muddily into the room, trailing a puddle behind him. He tosses his dirty Quidditch gear around the foot of his bed and collapses onto it, back down to his trousers and shirt. He grins happily over at Percy and chirps, “We won!”

“So I’ve heard,” Percy sniffs, glaring daggers.

Oliver’s eyebrows knit together, which is a great achievement—usually he doesn’t notice at all and cheerfully goes about his business: running downstairs to party or passing right out. “You okay?”

Percy’s already walked over to Oliver’s bed, hovering over the pile of discarded laundry. On the one hand, if he washes Oliver’s clothes, the room he spent an hour cleaning will actually be clean again. On the other hand, if he does that, Oliver will never learn. Tilting his head and staring at them, Percy sniffs, “I just cleaned.”

“Oh,” Oliver says, without a hint of apology or shame anywhere in his voice. “Don’t worry about—I don’t mind.”

“ _I_ mind!” Percy shouts incredulously, scowling up at Oliver. “There’s only two of us in here—it shouldn’t be this hard to keep the room clean!”

When Oliver stands off the bed, Percy only takes one step back, trying to hold his glare up challengingly. It’s hard to challenge Oliver when he’s considerably bigger and more muscled, but Percy does his best. Oliver looks halfway between affronted and sorry this time, and he mumbles, “Calm down, Perce. It’s just a bit of laundry. I’ll do it later.”

“No, you won’t!” Percy practically whines. “You always say that and you never do it! And then _I_ end up doing it, just because I’m tired of living in filth!”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that!” Oliver says, now with a hint of annoyance.

Percy sucks in a bit of breath, puffing up. “You can order a team all over the pitch but you can’t even keep your own room clean!” Then he does something in the spur of the moment that he doesn’t at all mean to, and that he’s never done before. He actually shoves Oliver lightly in the chest, making Oliver stumble back into the bed.

Oliver stares at him incredulously, before lunging forward and shoving Percy back—Percy’s topples over onto the carpet. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not good enough for Perfect Prefect Percy!” he huffs, standing over Percy, still looking halfway sorry.

Percy doesn’t want Oliver to feel sorry for him. He scrambles back to his feet and shoves Oliver again, this time with all his strength, and Oliver grabs him and wrestles with him, flipping him around and tangling their legs. The next thing Percy knows, he’s being thrown onto the bed, and he bounces off it, ready to strike.

Oliver pins him down again by smashing their mouths together, forcing Percy’s head sharply down into the mattress. Percy squeals into the kiss, and as soon as his lips part, Oliver shoves his tongue into Percy’s mouth, hungrily exploring it and tracing everything. Oliver’s heavy body is over his, pinning him down and flattening the air out of his lungs—he can feel Oliver’s six-pack through their shirts. Percy lifts his hands to Oliver’s shoulders as if to push him off but hesitates too long. Oliver grabs Percy’s wrists and pins them to the mattress, continuing the heated, wet kiss. It’s the first time Percy’s been kissed with tongue, and it’s strange and sloppy and exciting. A whole wealth of emotions runs through his trapped body, bubbling under his veins. He thinks he’s blushing, and his blood’s on fire.

When Oliver finally pulls off, Percy’s mouth stays open—he’s too shocked to close it. His glasses have been knocked slightly askew. Oliver opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. Nothing comes out.

His eyes are fire and he dives in for another heavy kiss, just as desperate and violent as the first. This time Percy tries to kiss back—his brain’s been sucked out of his head and he’s going on instinct. Oliver’s tented crotch starts to grind into him, and Percy moans fervently and tries to buck back. Oliver groans appreciatively and sucks on Percy’s tongue. Percy starts struggling again.

He manages to jerk his wrists out of Oliver’s grasp and lifts his hands to fist in Oliver’s chestnut hair, pulling him down. Percy’s completely lost it, and when he does regain any semblance of coherent thought, all he can think is, ‘why didn’t we do this before?’


End file.
